Love of an Angel
by rootbeer'n'chocolate
Summary: It's been a year since Eric died. Esme doesn't want to remember her fiance, and needs to find someone else to love. She's driven to suicide from her sadness, and when she jumps from the cliff, she's caught by something that she can't see.... T just in cas
1. Chapter 1: Proposal

I smooth out my electric blue dress as I wait for Joey to arrive, which should be any minute. I let my mind wander... Today's the 20th,my thoughts are interrupted by a knock at my door. I open the door and greet Joey with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Hi Joey," I greet.

"Hi Esme. You ready?" he asks me, returning my hug and kiss.

"Yea, lets go," I answer, turning the lights off in my house as I leave, shutting and locking the door behind me. He walks me to his Convertible, and opens the door for me, shutting it behind me as I climb in.

"How was your day?" he asks me, starting the silent engine of his car.

"Oh, fine. I got off of work early, and took a long walk in the park. It's so beautiful and warm this time of year, so I seated myself on a bench in the park

and enjoyed the beautiful day. How did your day go?"

"Pretty good, I had the day off."

We pull up to into a parking lot in front of The Anchor, a church where the are socials and get-togethers for adults every Saturday night. He gets out of the car and comes around to open the door for me. He leads me inside where I'm greeted by my friend, Julie.

"Hey Esme. Good luck tonight," she says, winking at Joey.

"Joey?" I qestion.

"I'll explain later. You want to dance?" he asks asks as a slow dance song comes on through the speakers.

"Sure," I answer, and throw my arms around his neck. He positions his arms around my waist, and we work our way across the floor, until we're infront of the stage.

"Why are we here?" I ask. "Is this something to do with earlier?" I question suspiciously.

"Maybe," he evades, and we continue dancing. As the song ends, the lights darken, until a single spotlight is on the stage. Julie walks up, and the crowd silences. You can hear her heals clicking across the stage.

"I'd like Joey Talan and Esme Schroll to come up here. I'll leave the rest to Joey," she says, and the crowd applauses as Joey leads me into the spotlight, fishing for something in his pocket. I feel dread wash over me. I know what's coming. My feet become lead, my mind a mass of chaos. Joey gets down on one knee, a small box in his hands.

"Esme Schroll, will you marry me?" he asks, in front of all of my colleagues. Everyone holds their breath, waiting for my response.

"No," I whisper, tears flooding my eyes as I run off of the stage, through the smothering crowd of people out to the parking lot.

_Okay, so this is my first fanfiction story, no flames if it fails... sorry to leave you hanging like that without any explination as to why she says no..._

_-Jadynkit_


	2. Chapter 2: Talk with Carlisle

_note from the author- umm, forgot to add, but all human, and obviously from Esme's point of view. This chapter is a little slower, but it's just a lead in to the next chapter. PLEASE REVIEW!!  
_

"Esme?" Julie asks cautiously, crouching down so that she's at eye-level with me.

"I just can't forget him yet," I sob, rembering the day Eric died.

"Esme, it's okay. No one blames you. It's just... It's just that we thought that you were over him," she comforts me.

"What about Joey?" I cry, the river of tears streaming down my face gently slowing.

"He left right after you said no," she answers, and my body's shaken by another wave of tears. "Don't worry, I'll take you home."

"Thanks," I cry into her shoulder as she helps me up. I lean on her as we walk to her car, and she helps me into the passenger's side of the car. The ride to my house is silent, except for the tears still flowing down my face, staining my knee-length dress. As we pull into my driveway, I toss a "Thank you" and "Goodbye" over my shoulder, and then escape from the car, running up to my house and unlocking my door. I scramble up the stairs into my room and collapse on my bed, crying myself to sleep.

I wake up, my hair a mess and slightly damp, still in my dress. I get up, and start the warm water of my shower. I step in, and let the soothing water run over my body, loosening my muscles and warming up my cold bones as I start to cry a little more. Not crying because I had turned down someone to replace Eric, but because I miss Eric so much. Maybe I should explain.

Last summer, my fiance, Eric, died in a car accident. We were driving to a secluded cliff area, our favorite spot for a picnic, when an idiot ran a redlight, and hit straight on with our car. We were rammed into a side-rail, and I was fine, except for a few cuts and bruises, and a broken leg. But Eric's neck had snapped, killing him instantly. The anniversary is in a week and a half, and I'm not sure how I'll handle it.

I wash my hair, rinsing it, and then step out of the shower after turning the water off. I grab a towel, and quickly dry myself down, the tears stopped. I dry off quickly, and change into a dress suit. I comb out my damp hair, and then walk downstairs to make myself breakfast. I pour a bowl of cereal, and drown the cereal in milk. I chomp on it, choking down the tasteless food, even though this is normally my favorite cereal. I wash my dishes by hand, (the stupid dishwasher's broken!) and then trudge upstairs again. I brush my dry hair to get all of the accumulated tangles out, and then hurry through putting my make-up on. I glance at my clock and then walk down my stairs and out to my garage. I open the garage door, and then get into my Taurus, starting the smooth and quiet engine. I drive to work, and pull into an open space closest to the office.

"Esme, good to see you," calls Dana, an excelent artist who moved about a month ago to Holland from Forks, Washington.

"Hello, Dana. How's that restoration coming?" I ask her.

"Oh, pretty good, I'm almost done," she answers. "And you? I understood that you were restoring Paul Cezanne's _Landsape at Auvers_."

"Yea, but I'm only halfway through it. Well, I better get to work," I say, ending my discussion with Dana.

"Yea, goodbye," she says awkwardly, turning her attention back to her painting. I walk up the marble, spiral staircase, into my office. I pull the old stool close to Cezanne's painting, and get out my paints and palette. I start with the shading, but am soon interrupted by the office phone.

"Hello?" I ask.

"Esme, please report to the front desk, we've got a Mr. Cullen requesting your presence," Shela, my clerk, tells me.

"Thank you, Shela," I say, and hang up. What would Carlisle want? Had he maybe heard about my breakdown at the Anchor? Would he tell me that it's time to get over his brother? He's never been so harsh on me before, but there's a first for everything... I think as I walk down the spiral staircase, pass Dana's office, and to the front desk.

"Hey Carlisle," I greet him, giving him a hug.

"Hi Esme. Listen, I need to talk to you. Would you join me for coffee?" he asks me, and I can tell that he's going to talk about something serious.

"Sure. Right now, or later? Or, what?" I ask.

"Well, would right now work for you?"

"Yeah, that would work great," I answer, and he leads me out to his car.

"So, what's been going on with you lately, it's been, what, three months?" I ask as we drive down the road to Sweet D's cafe down the road.

"I got a dog a few weeks ago. She's the sweetest little Golden Retriever ever. I named her Ginger," he answers as we pull into a spot in front of the cafe.

"What do you want to talk about?" I ask as we slip into a corner booth.

"You see, I want to talk about my brother," he starts.

"Listen, Carlisle. I'm fine. I just miss your brother. I'm not ready to move on yet, to forget him. What happened last night was exactly that. When faced with having to move on, I just wasn't- and I'm still not- ready to give my entire heart to someone else," I say, raising my voice a little bit, and then storming out of the small cafe, the door bell ringing cheerily and mockingly as I do so.

"Wait, Esme, just listen to me. That's not what I wanted to talk about," he calls as I storm down the street.

"Carlisle, I just can't talk about it right now. Call me later," I say, crossing the street and entering the back way into my office, taking the spiral steps two at a time. I open my office door to find someone in my office.

"May I help you?" I ask a six foot tall man with brown hair.

"Um, yes. My name is Devan Namovich, and I'm here for the job interview," he informs me, extending his hand for me to shake.

"Oh, right," I say, shaking his hand and then sitting down. "One of our workers, Dana, found a better offer across the state, and we need someone else to take over her position.

"How well do you think you paint?" I ask him.

"Well, i think that I paint rather well, and I've worked for several other restoring companies," he answers.

"I see that this is your resume," I say as he hands me a folder.

"Yes."

"Well, I shall look this over, and I'll let you know if you get the position. But, I would like to see some of the work you've done, so if you could bring that by somethime, I'd appreciate it," I tell him, and dismiss him with a handshake.

"Thank you," he says, departing with those few words.


End file.
